


Black (with a Hint of Glitter)

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley gets a manicure, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 03:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Nauseating fluff: Aziraphale gives Crowley a manicure





	Black (with a Hint of Glitter)

“Hold still!”

“But I’m _bored_. You can’t expect me to sit still for a manicure that _you_ talked me into, without any entertainment!” Crowley was whining, and they both knew it.

“Fine. Watch this.” Aziraphale waved a hand, and the television switched itself on.

Crowley grumbled to himself, but settled back on the sofa while Aziraphale gently buffed his nails. “I can’t see what’s so exciting about people baking cakes anyway. Why do humans have to televise everything?”

Five minutes and three cake disasters later, Crowley was hooked. “They forgot to put the eggs in!”

Aziraphale sighed. “Just keep still, Crowley. I’m nearly done filing.”

Crowley, it proved, could **not** keep still. He had just discovered the psychological horrors of the Technical Challenge. He talked animatedly at Aziraphale, narrating everything onscreen. Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and put Crowley’s hands to soak in a bowl of warm water.

A further ten minutes, and some enthusiastic idolising of the demonic qualities of the judges later, Aziraphale was ready to start pushing back Crowley’s cuticles.

“Ow! What are you doing that for?”

“I’m pushing your cuticles back,” answered Aziraphale.

“But why?”

“Well - well, I don’t know why. They do it at the salon. Now watch the telly and let me get on with it!”

Crowley smirked, and turned back to the show.

Cuticles thankfully over with, Aziraphale carefully and meticulously painted a clear base coat onto each of Crowley’s fingernails. He took a moment to savour the aesthetic of the demon’s elegant hands, all long and slender like the rest of him.

Crowley cackled like a vindictive old lady. “Look, it’s melted right away! Should never have used white chocolate…” Slender and elegant, Aziraphale mused ruefully.

“Ok, time to pick a colour. I’ve always wanted to see you in purple…” said Aziraphale hopefully.

“Nah,” grinned Crowley. “I want black.”

Aziraphale looked crestfallen. It was a facial expression he’d perfected over the years, and fully weaponised against Crowley.

“Ok, black glitter. This one.” Crowley grabbed a clear polish with flecks of many coloured glitter, purple included.

“That will look lovely, dear. Now give me your hand again.”

Crowley leaned back again, legs sprawled all over the place, trying not to look too interested in the proceedings. It wasn’t very demonic to enjoy being pampered too much… Laughing at cake failures was probably alright though. He stared at the TV with malevolent pleasure.

Aziraphale was painting on the black. Crowley watched out of the corner of his eye, seeing how the angel snuck in occasional caresses under the guise of repositioning his hands. Crowley wasn’t sure who he thought _he_ was deluding. If Aziraphale wanted to do nice things for him, then Crowley would just have to tolerate it and pretend he didn’t notice. For Aziraphale’s sake.

The baking show contestants were building cake monstrosities. The demon judges (Crowley had decided that they were definitely demons, or at least in some way in the pay of Satan) were prowling around, asking pointed questions. Crowley was determined to in no way show Aziraphale how invested he was getting in this programme.

Crowley was revelling in one contestant’s expression as she realised she’d forgot to turn the oven on (he almost wished he was still reporting downstairs - he could have had great fun writing this lot up), when Aziraphale waved his own glittered hand in front of his face.

“Ok, you’re done!”

Avoiding looking at all disappointed that his manicure was concluded, Crowley took a peek. His nails looked fantastic. Black and glittery, _and_ sharpened to a point. Crowley made to test them out on Aziraphale’s delectable leg.

“A-ah, they’re still drying! But what do you think?”

“Beautiful, angel,” said Crowley in his most laid back voice. “I’ll just sit here and let them dry…”

He sat and watched the rest of his programme, while Aziraphale bustled around putting away scissors and files. Then he very carefully went about his day, with just a frisson of tension pulsing through his body to his fingernails, instructing them that _in no way should they ever chip Aziraphale’s precious work._

It wasn’t until a week later that he realised he should have told them not to grow, either. Ah well, this time it was Biscuit Week.


End file.
